The Autobiography of a Mary Sue
by JolieFille
Summary: The infamous Mary Sue has finally set out to write her autobiographytelling the story of her life experiences, and attempting to dispel rumours about her personality along the way.
1. Chapter 1

_Praise for "The Autobiography of a Mary Sue":_

"A witty and bold masterpiece!" –_The Daily Prophet_

"...a story about a Mary Sue by a Mary Sue…OR IS IT?" –_The Quibbler_

"Provocative, humorous and beautiful…Ms. Sue has spun yet another blazingly articulate tale." –_The Merlin Tribune_

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The Autobiography of a Mary Sue

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Unrealistic, narcissistic, unusual… These are the words with which people often describe me. They call me shallow and egocentric; they turn their noses up at me when they see me walk by. And I know why. They—those outsiders—look on to _m_y life with a blurry lens…they see me as a different, extraordinary being with all my unique qualities, and call _me _superficial. I call them hypocrites. How dare them—when they themselves brusquely paper over all the bumps of my life and conclude that I'm superficial. If they took the time to study me more carefully, they would find me to be quite the contrary. And that is why I have set out to write this autobiography; to set the record straight and dispel these horrific stereotypes that have developed about my kind. Yes—we are a kind. Almost a race, really. And the prejudices that have spread and manifested themselves in society have completely stigmatized us—particularly in the field of literature, where the so-called educated readers cringe when they find my personality adorning an original character in a story. Now, without further adieu let me invite you to sit back and enjoy this narrative, as I try my best to outline the numerous experiences that have fit themselves into my short life of sixteen years. I most sincerely hope that my account will shed some light onto your perception of the race of women that you have come to know as Mary Sue.

Before I delve into the depths of my life, let me first lay the foundation of this story and give you a description of my physical characteristics. They are, no doubt, the drops of glue that hold my personality together, the thin strands that weave the story of my life. I am a petite girl, holding myself up to a modest five feet and two inches. I have large, almond-shaped violet eyes that tend to twinkle even more mystically than Dumbledore's did. My long, luscious locks of black hair fall a few inches past my tanned shoulders, and I've charmed them into staying that length permanently. I would never dream of taking on a length longer or shorter than what I've already got. I'm also fairly thin—not too thin, of course. When people hear that I'm Mary Sue, they always assume I'm paper thin, but I'm not. I too have curves, you know. Fortunately, they're all in the right places—I mean, if they weren't, I would probably have to start exercising to stay a size 0...

I am also extremely fit. On the surface, this may seem to correspond right with the generalizations made about my kind, but allow me to pull you under the surface that you skim over; I am fit because I have worked for fitness. As I implied earlier, I do not exercise regularly. I do however, play quidditch, and I believe it is this factor that contributes to my excellent shape. While riding on a broom for a couple of hours does not bring an individual to break a sweat, it is a truth universally acknowledged that playing quidditch gives the appearance of healthy form. And it makes sense, if you look at all those quidditch players like the oh-so-burly Oliver Wood, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, or the late Cedric Diggory, to name a few. Any girl who has attended Hogwarts with them can attest to observing how those quidditch players always fill out in all the right places. While I do not play for the team (that four-eyed Harry Potter has held onto the position of seeker since his first year, and as that is my ideal position, I see no point in trying out), I do play regularly, thus reiterating my argument that I am not _naturally_ in perfect form, as many of my critics claim.

Let me now digress into matters that seem trivial to the outsider, but very important to me—my attire. This is another area in which people tend to make assumptions about me. Let me begin by saying that I do not sport trendy clothes around the clock. Just like all normal people, I too like to slip into sweats from time to time. It's not my fault though that I always look good in what I'm wearing…that's probably where the stereotypes about Mary Sues always dressing 'cool' started. We just always look good…even in crappy clothes. I wish people would just get over it. Now, when I _do_ want to make an impression, I prefer muggle clothes to robes. They just look so much better, and there's much more variety too. Now, I tend to pair my tops with hip-huggers. They're just so flattering. I don't really wear skirts, unless of course they fall above my knees. In terms of tops, I don't really have any particular style that I stick to…pretty much anything that hugs my figure. I mean, what's the point of having curves in all the right places if no one is going to see them? I especially love to wear things with spikes or studs in them—or anything that can make me look punk to the untrained eye. Oh, I do have one particular favorite though: tank tops…especially at the start of term, when I'm ready to board the Hogwarts Express. Tank tops are the best way to go when you want to show everyone how much your body has changed over the summer; so that paired with one of my faded blue jeans is my back-to-school outfit, year after year.

Another misconception about Mary Sues is that we all have exotic backgrounds and names that can be found in Greek or Latin dictionaries or in constellations. This can immediately dispelled upon hearing about my own background. First off, I do not have any rare name like Alere or Lyra; my name is simply Mary Sue. And my ethnic background is as bland as the next person's. While I have been living in Britain since I started Hogwarts, I was actually born and raised in America. Nothing exotic about that…I'm an American with an American accent who moved to Britain at age ten because I was raped. (Another story for another chapter, I'm afraid.) But nonetheless, I have no exotic blood in me, except the French bit that comes from my mother, the Lebanese bit from my father, and the Malaysian bit from two of my grandparents…but that's about it, really.

You have now acquainted yourself with some of the details of my physical and other outward characteristics, and in the following chapters you will explore a world that until now has been entirely my own, but will presently become a communal one for the purposes of dissolving those pejorative notions that have for too long plagued the Mary Sues of our society.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: bites lip nervously OK. Please don't hurt me. Remember—senior in college, trying to graduate over here! AND trying to juggle three stories at once on here! Lol so cut me some slack…_

_Alright, I actually had a real point to make here…WARNING: I just wanted to mention that rape is talked about in this chapter, but in a comical sort of way…just making a mockery of the Mary Sue –type rape situations you get in stories…soooo….sigh not trying to be insensitive or horrible in any way…so please don't get offended. I feel that it may be inevitable that I will offend someone out there…possibly a rape victim or someone who knows a rape victim…but that's definitely not my intention. I am NOT making light of rape…just the scenario in a typical Mary Sue context._

_And ok...I know this chapter's short...again. But I swear, I'm slowly (yes, very slowly...lol) working towards the meatier chapters!_

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My Childhood

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I grew up in a rather wealthy suburb of St. Louis, Missouri in the United States. My father is a muggle doctor, and my mother is a witch. She used to be a healer, but when she became infatuated with my dad and married him, she quit her work, realizing that his income was more than enough to support a family. And it was. We were quite well off financially, and my parents bought me everything that my heart desired—clothes, a pink bicycle, a doll house that was furnished as luxuriously as our own house was—I had everything that a girl could wish for in the material sense. One thing I was lacking, however, was love. I am convinced that my parents cared nothing for me and still don't. And I personally feel that it was this particular aspect of my life that truly influenced my personality. Because of the lack of affection I received as a child, I grew up to never desire it—despite the great amount I have always received wherever I go. I find it rather unnerving actually, by the amount of attention I get from my fellow students and professors—particularly of men. Some of my female friends (who are of course in my house and year—I would never dream of befriending anyone who didn't share a dormitory with me) suspect that it is because of my looks. I cannot deny this theory, but at the same time I feel as though there is something more that drives the overabundance of attention that I so often receive. Perhaps by delving into the depths of my past I may be able to discover what that 'something' is about me.

Negligence on the part of parents seems to be punishment enough for a single individual to endure, yet I have another qualm that I must regrettably share about my past. In addition to hoarding all their time and love for themselves, my parents would often physically abuse me—particularly my father. You see, they were very fond of alcohol. Everything—from the finest muggle and wizard champagnes, to the cheapest liquors that are only found in seedy pubs—they enjoyed it. Oftentimes a little too much, to a point where I became victim of their drunken violence that would always result from their frequent binges. I still have nightmares about the terrible nights I had as a child, waking up to my parents coming home in the early hours of the morning, bringing in the filthy stench of whatever pub or party they had been attending. I would bolt up and out of bed, racing to the door to make sure they were alright, only to receive a forceful push from my father that would always sending me hurdling towards the wall, saying "Of course everything's alright, you thickheaded twit with braids! Go back to bed!" And if I didn't get out of their sight fast enough, I would endure even more shoving and often a few hexes at the hand of my mother.

The last tribulation that I care to share from my childhood, as mentioned in my introduction was becoming a victim of rape at the young and impressionable age of ten. My attacker was Lucius Malfoy, a wizard made famous not only in Great Britain, but back in the United States as well. The wizarding community in the states, of course, is rather small, and foreign wizards, particularly those associated with the ministry, have always been held with much regard—Lucius included. He was and still is a man of large fortune, dwarfing the wealth of my own father. My mother, too, was quick to notice this, and was later discovered to be having an affair with the man. Not long after, my father had found out, and set out looking for Malfoy and my mother while they were on one of their escapades. I had been left home alone, which by the age of ten, was perfectly normal for me. On this particular evening, Malfoy came crashing through my bedroom window on his broom—and I was most surprised to see my mother riding with him, clutching hard to his waist and looking thoroughly frightened. She was wearing a long, lavender dressing gown that hugged the beautiful curves that I had managed to inherit from her. She hopped off Lucius's broom, and for a moment I thought that perhaps he was dropping her off, possibly feeling guilty about his affair. But then he too jumped off his broom—a sleek, new Nimbus 1000—and tossed it onto my bed.

"This must be your daughter…" I remember him saying to my mother, though he kept his eyes on me. And before I knew it, Lucius had stupefied my mother and soon had heaved me onto my bed, throwing himself on top of me.

And then it happened. The details of my encounter with Lucius Malfoy are still fresh in my mind six years later, and I find myself completely incapable of writing them down. It simply pains me too much to relieve the memory of that horrible man doing things to me that only a savage beast would do to an innocent child. All I can say on the matter is that it happened—most arbitrarily too, I might add. To this day I do not know why Lucius Malfoy did what he did. Was it to avenge my father? Maybe even my mother? He had hexed her, after all…perhaps he was simply using her in their affair, and by stealing my virtue he felt he had maximized the damage incurred on my family. But then the question would arise, why would he want to hurt my family? To my knowledge, we had never even been remotely associated with him or anyone in his family. Yet this is just another infinite, vicious and completely empty circle in my past—so many things, it seems, are completely unaccounted for in my life. Another disparagement from my critics, I know—so many loopholes in my past—but I ask you, my dear readers, what is one supposed to do in such a situation? I think it is only fair to assume that I could hardly confront Mr. Malfoy, demanding for some explanation as to why he committed such iniquitous crimes against my family. Nor could I ever consult my parents on the matter. In fact, almost immediately after the fateful night, I found myself packing to go to England, in order to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—an anecdote that I will recount further on. I have spoken minimally with my parents since, as they only prove to be an interference in the life I prefer to live—spending weeks at a time with various friends and/or lovers, or in the company of Professor Albus Dumbledore, a dear old man who has come to mean much to me as a friend and mentor.

In light of all the physical and verbal mistreatment I have received in my childhood, many of my critics often wonder how someone such as my self can rise out of such a dysfunctional family to become the immaculate figure that I am. I believe that my ability to overcome the trials I have faced in life is due to the strength of mind and character that I undoubtedly possess. How else can one explain how—after being so sadistically violated at such a young age—could I not be uncomfortable having sexual relations with men? It only makes sense that I was fortunate enough to have inner and outer strength of such high caliber, that I would be able to overcome the most trying situations a young girl could ever face.

Now, as mentioned previously, almost immediately after being violated at the hands of Lucius Malfoy, I was shipped to Great Britain to begin my magical education. At the time, I had been completely shaken up by the incident, and could not stand to be anywhere near the place where my purity had been tainted. Why, one may ask, did I go to Great Britain, where the odious man himself has always resided? Again, a rather arbitrary move made in the course of my short life. I sometimes like to think that I subconsciously _knew_ that Hogwarts was in my destiny. After all, it is the place of action. Lord Voldemort went there. Harry Potter goes there. The late Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster there. There is _always_ something going on at that school, and it is only natural that I should retain close proximity to it. Additionally, it is the place that I had countless, torrid love affairs which obviously could never have happened if I had remained in the States.

Additionally, Professor Dumbledore had sent me a letter, inviting me to the school. Yes, I was only ten; and yes, the cut-off age for entering students has always been eleven. However, Dumbledore was an extremely intelligent man who had felt my potential, and sent me my letter a year early. Despite my knowing that I would be moving geographically closer to Lucius Malfoy, I could not help but feel a rush of excitement at the possibilities of moving miles away from my family, starting a new life. I decided to make the sacrifice and take a chance, accepting my invitation to attend the legendary Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, thus beginning a whole new phase in my life as I entered a whole new world.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I know, I know. It's been ages. We have beards now. And I feel bad because all this waiting is not being compensated by the length of this chapter. Meh. I really am sorry…but I have a feeling that these chapters are all going to be this short…I just think that's the only way this "Autobiography" is going to flow. So…all I can say is, take it or leave it. I do hope you take it, because I have good fun writing these bits and I want you all to enjoy them just as much. : )_

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Hogwarts

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It seems like only yesterday I was sitting, perched upon the rickety stool at the front of the Great Hall with the tatty old sorting hat on my head, awaiting my fate. I remember the sorting hat taking a particularly long time in deciding what house to place me in. Together we went through the choices—the sorting hat thought I would have made a superb Slytherin, considering my cunningness and ambition, or even a Ravenclaw because of the great amount of wit and wisdom I possessed for a girl my age. We immediately dismissed the possibility of being a Hufflepuff—I would never be able to live down such a disgrace. Gryffindor seemed to be the House with most merit, with its members being known for their fierceness and bravery. While I do feel that I possess all the qualities desirable in any of the four houses, I think my courage significantly outweighs my other strengths. Additionally, it only seems natural that providence would lead me into the house that served some of the greatest minds the wizarding world has seen. Harry Potter, for one has made Gryffindor the ideal house for young aspiring witches across Britain. Then of course there was Albus Dumbledore, who not only attended Hogwarts as a Gryffindor, but also served as the head of the house for many years. Lastly, in all my years at Hogwarts, it has indeed proved to be convenient to reside in the house of Gryffindor as a number of my lovers were also members or former members of this house. Of course, I had a number of Slytherin lovers, and a few Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff flings, but the majority of my admirers have been Gryffindors.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that adjusting to any new community can be extremely difficult and painful for children. Not surprisingly though, I transitioned into my new world with a great amount of ease. It was a new phase of my life—the best phase of my life—where I had left my old, reclusive life behind with my family, and had entered an exciting new world full of endless opportunities. One area of this new life that admittedly was a bit difficult to adjust to—and still is, I might add—is the amount of attention I received from the people around me. Even now, six years after my arrival at Hogwarts, I find it impossible to walk through corridors without receiving stares or whistles from members of the opposite sex. I realize that this sounds like an exaggeration of my beauty, but being the earnest woman that I am, I have never sought to embellish any of my qualities, especially my outward appearances. A mere glance at the cover of this book should be justification enough of all the attention I receive. However blatantly obvious the reasons are, however, I try my utmost to downplay my beauty and act as oblivious of it as I can. Regardless though, I continue to receive the unsolicited attention of students and professors alike; thus I have resolved to simply accept the attentions from those whom I consider worth my time, and disregard from those whom I would normally not even bother giving the time of day to.

My first year at Hogwarts went by with little consequence. My parents sent me a beautiful phoenix as a start-of-school present. Cold-hearted as they are, my parents _are _extremely wealthy and enjoy conspicuous consumption as much as the next rich person, and thus believed that phoenixes were the only way to send messages. He is a beautiful phoenix though, and so I named him Itzhak. I immediately became friends with my suitemates, Hermione Granger, Parvati Patel, and Lavender Brown, though more with the latter two than with the former. Hermione, though blessed with intelligence and sharpness, seemed to resent me for my ability to balance both beauty and brains (while clearly, as many know, she possesses only the latter—as Rita Skeeter in the _Daily Prophet_ once accurately called her a "plain but ambitious girl"), and so we grew apart within a few months. Additionally, she soon had become attached to our classmates, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and had developed a small crush on the latter. Lavender and Parvati, while better friends to me than Hermione could ever have been, the two were practically inseparable, and tended to leave me out of their fun much of the time and often came to me when they were in some type of romantic or academic rut and needed help or advice. I always observed that my three suitemates were quite the dichotomy—Hermione as the woman who possessed only brains, Parvati and Lavender as the women who only possessed looks—and I, the American student, as a balance between the two polarities. A seemingly clichéd trait for my kind to possess—this whole balance between looks and intelligence—but I feel that this quality does not exist simply to add to my many perfections as some of my critics would insinuate…it exists, to reiterate, neutralize the polarities of the other women with whom I share a dormitory. I firmly believe that my being able to obtain the "best of both worlds" smoothes the path of friendship amongst us, and sets the harmony in our dormitory atmosphere.

Additionally during my first year, Harry Potter, Hogwarts's new celebrity, had arrived. During the first week alone, my peer had managed to cause quite the havoc around the school with his legendary flying abilities and his making the Gryffindor team almost immediately. While I do not at all hold any resentment to Harry for his "outdoing" me in quidditch, I do feel that some clarifications are necessary in regards to his supposed superiority in the sport. Beginning Flying, the elementary course taught by Madam Hooch, has always been divided into two sections—the Gryffindor and Slytherin class, and the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff class. Being in Gryffindor, I should have gone to the former class on the first day. However, as I had been a tad bit ill that morning, I skipped class to stay in the hospital wing, thus missing the entire escapade between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter that had made sealed the latter's fame on the quidditch pitch. Later during the day, however, I had felt better and decided to go to Madam Hooch's Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff section so I wouldn't be behind. It turned out that I was just as much of a natural at flying as Harry. Upon mounting my broom for the first time, I was immediately able to kick off, and fly right over to the Quidditch pitch and through the goal hoops with great ease. Madam Hooch, who had previously warned us not to try anything fancy, was completely struck by my talent—too struck to even punish me for my disobeying the rules. I simply attribute the news of Harry's flying talents coming out before mine to fate. It was fate that allowed him to gain fame in the sport over me, and to be the youngest seeker in over a century. And let me take a moment now to comment on this as a true testament to my humaneness. Opponents like to peg me as a perfect character, as one who has limitless talents and who gets all that she desires…but lo, here I am, a talented flyer with no outlet…living proof that fate does not always work in favour of Mary Sue.

With my second year came Gilderoy Lockhart as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I look back at this particular year with some amount of resentment, as the year ended with Harry Potter saving Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, and with the help of Ron Weasley, exposing Lockhart as a fraud. The reasons for my ill feelings are simply that I had had a hunch all year long about Lockhart's fictitious reputation, but had never taken the trouble to confirm it. From the moment I walked into his classroom on the first day of school, I had suspicions about the authenticity of the claims he made in all his books. If I had taken the initiative to investigate and inform Professor Dumbledore, the man could have been fired, and an actual, qualified professor could have taken over, thus preventing Harry Potter and his friend from endangering themselves in the Chamber of Secrets. Needless to say, I was one of the few, if not only female students_ not _swooning over that male bimbo of a professor.

While my third year came and flew by as quickly as my first two years, I consider this one to be amongst the most memorable. It was the year that I had some of my more extraordinary magical abilities became apparent, such as my capabilities as a Seer. I had always known that I had possessed the Inner Eye, having seen flashes of some of the more terrible aspects of my fate years before any of the dreaded events had taken place. But it was during this year that my ability to see beyond began to fully take flight, much to the resentment of our Divination professor, Trelawney.

But most importantly, my third year was the year I began to make my move towards womanhood. It was the year I had finally begun to appreciate the abundant attentions I had been receiving from the opposite sex. It was a whole new world. An exciting world, a frightening world, and a sensual world all in one…


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